


Look But Don't Touch

by dreamofhorses



Series: 30 Days Porn Challenge [2]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Tags What Even, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-28 09:15:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16238633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamofhorses/pseuds/dreamofhorses
Summary: What it says on the tin, I suppose, enhanced by long fruitful discussions of how much touching is necessary for a scenario like this to unfold.





	Look But Don't Touch

_ My room. Ten minutes.  _

 

When Timmy sees the text message he feels blood pool in his groin. Armie's been in a  _ mood _ during this press trip to London, unpredictable and grouchy, and even Timmy's normal sunny optimism hasn't broken through the facade. There have been no secret kisses and touches in the green rooms, no blurry yet suggestive photos sent to Timmy's phone in the middle of the night. This text is the first hint he’s had that Armie might want to see him, touch him, if he's lucky hold him.

 

Ten minutes later Timmy knocks on Armie's door, already breathless. Armie answers, but he's not smiling. He barely even acknowledges Timmy and just stands aside, inclining his head toward the interior of the room. Timmy shoots him a quizzical look and enters. Two chairs have been set up, facing each other but as far apart as they can get within the room.

 

“Take them off,” Armie instructs, his eyes roaming Timmy's legs in his skinny jeans. Timmy knows this moment well. It's when he goes from having the power to appearing not to have the power. Timmy savors it. He unbuttons the jeans slowly, hooking his thumbs into his waistband and sliding them down his legs. He had removed his underwear before coming to Armie's room, and Armie's eyes follow his cock when it springs free of his jeans. This was the right choice. He rolls the jeans down to his ankles and steps out of them. 

 

“Sit,” Armie instructs, and takes one of the chairs for himself. Timmy obeys. He always obeys Armie. Even if it hurts at the time, it always feels good later.

 

“Touch yourself.” Armie is staring at him. Without breaking eye contact, Timmy starts stroking his already erect cock. He doesn't need to think about anything else for a change, doesn't need to pretend he's anywhere but right where he is, with anyone other than who he's there with. It's a nice change from furtively touching himself in hotel suites, one sweaty hand thumbing through pictures of Armie on his phone, the other working his cock, tears of exhaustion or need pooling in his green eyes. 

 

Timmy's breath comes faster, catches in his throat, and when Armie hears that he utters a firm “Stop.” Timmy moans but obeys. Something between a sigh and a breath escapes his mouth again and then he falls silent, placing his hands on the armrests of the chair and keeping his eye contact with Armie. 

 

“You don’t do anything unless I say so. You know that, right?” Clearly the mood Armie has been in on this whole trip hasn't changed, just shifted to a different subject. 

 

“Yes,” Timmy breathes, and normally he'd break eye contact, look down to show submission, but this time he stares, boldly, keeps staring even when he senses reproach in Armie's gaze. 

 

“Who does your cock belong to?” Armie asks, and Timmy knows there's only one answer to that question. He's answered wrong only once, and Armie made sure that never happened again. 

 

“You, Armie,” Timmy sighs, and he can feel his erection bob up and down at the phrase and at the submission it implies. 

 

“Now touch it. Once, only once, but make it good.” Timmy curls his left hand around the base of his shaft and draws up slowly, still staring at Armie, dragging his little finger behind the others to give extra sensation as he strokes upward. When he reaches the head and tightens his grip as it narrows, he finally has to close his eyes, tip his head back, and release a tiny involuntary gasp. When he opens his eyes again to meet Armie's, he's glad that Armie looks pleased. 

 

Timmy returns his hands to the armrests of the chair. Armie sits for what feels like several minutes running his eyes silently over Timmy’s body. A smile plays across Timmy’s lips. He remembers when he used to worry that he was too skinny, that his hair was too long, that there was  _ some _ flaw that Armie would find that would make him turn away. After everything they’d shared, Timmy no longer worries about that. He relishes Armie’s eyes on him, can tell what Armie was thinking, and feels his cock throb when he starts entertaining the same thoughts.

 

“Again, until I tell you to stop.” Timmy grips his cock, feels the blood still pulsing there, and when he starts to move his hand Armie’s eyes follow, quickly, instinctively, before Armie forces himself to look up again at Timmy’s face. That single moment, when Armie’s own body betrays him and shows Timmy what he wants most, makes Timmy even harder and he starts stroking faster almost without realizing it. Armie’s eyes drift down to Timmy’s hand again as it strokes, faster, faster, and Timmy starts to match his strokes to Armie’s gaze, sliding his hand down his shaft when he sees Armie’s eyes go lower, and raising his hand to caress the head as Armie’s glance glides upward.

 

It doesn’t take Armie long to figure this out and begin sliding his eyes quickly up and down the length of Timmy’s erect cock, forcing Timmy to go faster and faster until a pained moan escapes his lips, and just when Timmy can feel the orgasm building and knows he’ll have to break eye contact to close his eyes with the force of it, Armie whispers, “Stop.”

 

“Armie,” Timmy hisses under his breath, half in frustration and half in desire. But he places his hands back on the armrests. His cock dips down to his stomach and drips pre-cum onto the hair there. “Please…” Timmy whispers, without even knowing exactly what he’s asking for.

 

In the chair across the room, Armie slides his hand into his tracksuit and begins stroking himself while Timmy watches. He’s still afraid to move his hands, afraid the prohibition is still in place, but seeing Armie’s hand move inside his pants, knowing the feel of Armie’s thick cock in his own hands and being unable to touch it, makes Timmy whine a high, short keening sound. Armie’s moving faster already, he must have been unbearably hard already, and in a matter of seconds he moves his eyes deliberately to Timmy’s own dick and says hoarsely, “Now.”

Almost as soon as Timmy’s hand reaches his cock again he knows he’ll come any moment. And this time, this time Armie doesn’t tell him to stop. He holds Armie’s gaze as they both come together, bucking up into their hands, and never breaking eye contact even though Timmy’s gasping Armie’s name and Armie’s lip trembles with what he doesn’t say. Afterward Armie brings a damp cloth from the bathroom and hands it to Timmy to clean up. When their fingers brush each other it’s the first time they’ve touched since Timmy entered the room. Timmy pulls on his jeans, runs his hands through his hair, and makes for the door. Sometime, soon, Armie will ask him to stay, will say the words Timmy’s always secretly hoping for. Tonight, though, Armie just walks behind Timmy, reaches around him to undo the deadbolt, and then catches Timmy’s elbow, spins him around, and kisses him full on the mouth, hard and needy.

 

“Thanks, Tim, I...I needed that.”

Timmy goes on tiptoe, knows he’s always safe in the moment after Armie makes that admission. Kisses Armie gently on the cheek, eyes closed, lingering.

“I know, Armie. I know.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm dreamofhorses42 on Tumblr, come say hi!


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